


This fragile world between our hands

by Maewn



Series: Beyond the reaches of Sea, Sky and Stars [2]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Canonical Character Death, F/M, First Meetings, Magical Shenanigans, this is why you don't mess with strange mirrors kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: “Just a normal patrol, they said,” Sarai grumbles, squinting through the inky darkness. “Just a normal patrol through a dark fucking cave, Sarai, it’ll be fine.”





	1. Chapter 1

“Just a normal patrol, they said,” Sarai grumbles, squinting through the inky darkness. “Just a normal patrol through a dark fucking cave, Sarai, it’ll be fine.”

Her torch flickers as she walks.

She hates caves. Hates them ever since she and Amaya had gotten lost in one when they were kids.

“And without backup no less,” she mutters.

The lack of backup was more or less due to the rest of the fortress being either sick or already on duty elsewhere.

Sarai grumbles another curse. They’ve had reports of movement within the cave network here for a few weeks now, and honestly, Sarai would feel so much more comfortable with a good dozen men. The network is a maze of winding corridors that reminds her of those two days trapped in a cave with Amaya.

They had huddled together, praying to any and all gods that would deign to hear them until their father’s search party had located them.

Sarai shudders, and because life hates her, it is just then that her torch snuffs out.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Sarai whispers, overcome with the sudden fear she’d had as a lost child. She fumbles for her flint, trying to relight the torch to little avail.

Sarai curses, closing her eyes and praying that there would be something, anything. A glow-worm, maybe. Anything to lift the dark that suddenly frightens her so.

It takes a minute for her to realize that there is a dim glow now, coming from the low ceiling.

“Oh,” Sarai says, releasing a stuttering breath. “Glow lichen. Oh thank the gods.”

She needs to find her way back out, and come back with more people and a good lantern. Fuck doing this with a torch.

But finding her way through the maze of corridors is hard, even with the faint glow. Sarai thinks she’s heading in the correct direction, right up until she hits one corridor that dead ends in a round, circular, rather peculiar hollow.

The room, if Sarai can call it that, is lined with broken mirrors. Glass crunches underfoot as she follows the dim glow of the lichen.

There has to be at least thirty mirrors lying there, and Sarai can barely see the runes that line each and every one of them. Had they been magic? Something that the elves had left before they retreated to the border?

Another mirror lies at her feet and it is mostly whole, though it looks like someone tried to do their best to shatter it. Cracks spiderweb out from the center, but the runes about the edges seem to glow with the faintest starlight.

Interesting.

Sarai kneels to examine it. The craftsmanship is exquisite, and Sarai mourns for the loss of such beauty. Why would all these mirrors have been destroyed?

There is a story she remembers her mother telling her, one of monsters who could travel through mirrors, and though she is a woman grown now, unafraid of such things, a flicker of unease travels down her spine.

She looks at the mirror, and reaches out, touching her palm to one of the few uncracked sections of glass. It glows beneath her touch, and the world shatters beneath her, bright light obscuring everything.

When she can see again, she is no longer in the cave.

She is within a room, with high stone ceilings, starlight glimmering from stained glass windows.

“Wow,” she breathes, looking around.

It is then that she realizes she is not alone. Someone is sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, cloaked in midnight blue, hood hiding most of their face.

“Are you an elf?” Sarai asks, staring at the being in front of her, who is gracefully standing from their chair.

“ _Is there anything else I would be?”_ a smooth, deep voice asks curiously.

“You could be a dragon,” Sarai says, still staring. They are quite beautiful.

“ _I’d be a rather small dragon, then,”_ the being says with a laugh that makes Sarai’s spine tingle pleasantly.

“Or you shapeshift,” Sarai says with a grin, “I’ve heard dragons can shapeshift.”

Another laugh and the being walks closer, pulling their hood back as they go.

Shimmering pale hair falls over their shoulder, framing a dark face. Glowing freckles are spattered across their nose. White diamonds lie beneath their eyes, golden irises that are surrounded by black.

Dark horns curl away from their head, and a gleaming outline of a star is visible on their chest.

For a moment, Sarai forgets how to breathe.

It is as if a part of the night sky has abandoned its greater whole to manifest as a walking person. Glorious and magnificent in its alienness.

“ _I am an elf, not a dragon,”_ they say softly, kneeling beside her and extending a hand to pull her upright.

“You’re not like any elf I’ve seen,” Sarai says, allowing them to pull her to her feet.

“ _Perhaps,”_ they say. _“What is your name?”_

“Sarai,” she says, meeting their eyes. “My name is Sarai.”

“ _Sarai,” the elf says, “A pretty name.”_

“And what is yours?”

“ _I am Aaravos,”_ the elf says.

“Also a pretty name,” Sarai says, “I don’t suppose you know where I am?”

“ _I don’t know,”_ the elf murmurs. _“I have never known.”_

“What do you mean?” Sarai asks, worry flooding her veins like ice-water.

“ _I have never known where this place is,”_ the elf replies. _“It is not for me to know.”_

Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at all.

“So, you’re only allowed to know certain things?” Sarai says carefully.

“ _That is correct. I know why I am here, and that is all I know.”_

“And why is that?”

The elf looks away, a look of pain crossing their face.

“ _I would rather not answer that question,”_ they say. _“But I regret to inform you that you will not be able to leave the way you entered.The mirror behind you broke in the process.”_

Sarai turns on her heel to look at the mirror. “It looks whole to me.”

“ _Not that one,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“The one you came through.”_

“It was broken when I touched it though,” Sarai says.

“ _Then it had enough power to deliver you here, and only that,”_ Aaravos says softly, _“I am sorry. You are trapped here, just as I am.”_

Sarai just stares at them.

She has left Amaya behind, her only family member who yet lives, to be trapped in this place with one of the strangest elves she has ever met?

“You’re absolutely sure?” Sarai asks, and she is proud that her voice doesn’t tremble.

The elf gives her a long, measured look, but their eyes are soft and sad. _“I am.”_

* * *

It takes time for Sarai to adjust to this new existence, and Aavaros gives her space.

There is a balcony outside the room she’d fallen into, and it is filled to bursting with plant life of all kinds.

Time seems to pass oddly here, and thankfully there is at least variance in the lighting, dawn to noon to twilight, to full dark. Aaravos doesn’t seem to need light to see as Sarai has seen him wandering around in the dark when she has to squint hard to see anything.

There is one other room, a small bedroom that is sparsely decorated and mostly filled with bookshelves, and a bed that becomes Sarai’s as Aaravos claims he can sleep in the study to give her more privacy.

Sarai is...grateful for it, she supposes.

It is near dawn one morning, when she finds Aaravos on the balcony, tending to a somewhat wilting moon-dew flower.

Sarai sits beside him, watching.

“I left my sister, Amaya, behind,” she says, apropos of nothing. “She’s the only family I had left after Mom and Dad died.”

Aaravos is silent, slender fingers plucking away dead leaves, eyes not leaving his task.

“ _I did not have any siblings,”_ Aaravos says at last. _“I do not remember my parents.”_

“You’ve been here that long?” Sarai asks.

“ _Startouch elves live a very long time,”_ Aaravos says, _“Though without the heart of my power,”_ he touches the dark star that lies upon his chest, _“I will live far less.”_

There is a jagged pain to his words, a story there that Sarai has not yet heard and maybe she thinks, she never will.

“ _Tell me of your sister, Sarai,”_ Aaravos murmurs, his gaze flicking to her face for the smallest of moments. _“Let another soul carry the weight of your grief.”_

Sarai draws in a shaky breath.

“I was five when my sister was born, and from the moment I held her, I wanted nothing more than to protect her. We grew up on the western side of Katolis, away from the Breach, amidst the green rolling hills, and it was peaceful there, a world away from the horrors of war,” Sarai begins.

And all the while Aaravos listens, occasionally looking to her, a quiet sorrow in his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s somehow easier after that morning, easier to breathe, to wake each morning in a strange but magical place. It’s like a fairy tale.

A hidden tower in the sky with a prince of stars locked away within its shining walls.

“Are you a prince?” Sarai asks once, seated in the ornate chair in the study, swinging her feet back and forth, her bare toes just brushing the stone.

Aaravos laughs, the sound warm and sweet from where he sits beside the roaring fire, sketching idly in the journal he’s stolen from Sarai. She doesn’t mind; she’s not really a writer anyway.

“ _No. Only an Archmage, though I am that in name alone now._ _It is a title reserved for our most gifted, our most powerful mages. There are few that have walked the world since its beginning,”_ he pauses, looks to her with curiosity. _“Would you like to hear the story we elves tell of the fajar, of the world’s dawn?”_

“I would,” Sarai says. Aaravos, she’s found, has many stories squirreled away, and she likes hearing him speak of far away places and events long passed.

Aaraovs smiles.

“ _Once, the stars walked in the endless void,”_ Aaravos begins, _“and found that the silence that had once embraced them as a mother might her child, had become smothering._

_So they sang into being the world._

_But the world was still and silent, and so the stars sang the dragons into creation._

_Their roars and cries broke the stillness and ensured that silence would not reign again._

_The Stars shaped the world with rivers and deserts, rolling hills and towering mountains, but the dragons flew through the world with only each other for company, and it was then, that one of the stars, a herald of storm and thunder, happened upon the idea to create other beings as well._

_So the Stars sang the elves to life, binding each to one of the six Primal Sources._

_But humanity rose from the song of the youngest star, one of shadow and dark, unbound to any Primal Source. Thus began the age of Sky, and ended the age of Stars.”_

“How many ages are there, by elven account?” Sarai asks.

Aaravos mulls the question over, clearly leafing through his long memory as pages in a book. _“The age of Stars is the age of Creation, the age of Sky is the beginning of recorded history, the age of_ _Earth has just ended...I believe it has been three so far. It is the age of Dark now, with the coming of Dark magic to humanity’s hands.”_

“What determines a new age?” Sarai asks, “An event of some kind?”

“ _Usually,”_ Aaravos says, _“The age of Sky ended when the stars withdrew from us, and the age of mortals began when scribes took up quills to write the histories we had begun to shape. The age of Earth was a prosperous time that ended as the age of Dark came, when humanity discovered the magic that dwelt within the deepest reaches of the world, the magic that is performed by sacrificing life.”_

“That’s what dark magic is?” Sarai asks, horrified.

“ _It is, and the story of its discovery is not a story I feel strong enough to speak of just yet,”_ Aaravos murmurs.

“That was a thousand years ago, right?” Sarai asks.

“ _Correct,”_ Aavaros says, and for a moment, for one dark moment, Sarai can see the shadow of something raw and anguished surface in his eyes. Then it is gone. _“I have been here a long time,”_ he says, setting his charcoal to the page again.

Sarai studies him, wondering not for the first time, what her companion had suffered, how he had come to be trapped here.

* * *

“You don’t have to sleep in the study, you know,” she says one evening as she prepares to leave.

“ _Is that an invitation to join you?”_ Aaravos asks, and there is an undercurrent to his voice, low and perhaps, Sarai is imagining it, _hungry._

Sarai turns her head, raising an eyebrow, “It might be.”

Aaravos laughs. _“_ _It will be a tight fit. I was not meant to have company here.”_

“Well, then we’ll just have to squeeze in,” Sarai says. “Any objections?”

Aaravos shakes his head, gesturing towards the door, _“Lead the way.”_

It isn’t as tight a fit as Sarai had initially feared, thankfully.

“ _Comfortable?”_ Aaravos asks, smirking.

“Yes,” Sarai says, grinning back, resting her head against his shoulder, “You are a very nice pillow.”

“ _Mm,”_ Aaravos replies.

Sarai tilts her head, just enough to see his eyes gleaming with amusement in the dim darkness, the only light coming from the moon’s rays filtering through the curtains.

Fuck it, she thinks, and kisses him, quick and impulsive.

He makes a quiet noise of surprise against her mouth, but leans into it, eager as she for contact.

She tangles her hands in his hair, finding it delightfully soft between her fingers.

“ _Are you certain you want this?”_ Aaravos murmurs.

“Yes,” Sarai says, “Are you?”

“ _It has been a very, very long time, Sarai,”_ he says, _“Since anyone shared my bed.”_

Sarai waits for an actual answer, because as much as _she_ may want this, he hasn’t said either yes or no.

Aaravos hums, kissing her again, _“_ _And..._ _I...do want this.”_

“Fantastic,” Sarai says and pulls him down to meet her.

* * *

 

Nearly every morning after that night, Sarai wakes to find herself tangled up with Aaravos.

It’s nice; she hasn’t had a lover in a while and she’s missed the intimacy, the calm sanctity of waking in the morning light together.

Sarai thinks Aaravos looks just as beautiful in the daylight as he does at night, the stars across his dark form a map that only she can read.

He is also less likely to leave their bed early now that Sarai is beside him.

It’s a peaceful existence, one that she has come to terms with as the seasons pass. And it has been _seasons_.

Aaravos tells her that Startouch elves have a unique ability with time, being able to tell the exact passage of it without timepieces or looking at the sky.

It has been eight seasons since she’s arrived, two years total.

“ _However,”_ Aaravos says, as Sarai absorbs the idea that it has been so long that she’s been here. It certainly doesn’t feel like it. _“Time flows differently here. A year in here would not be a year in Xadia.”_

“How long?” Sarai asks. “Not a century, surely?”

“ _Not that long, zahrati,”_ Aaravos murmurs, pulling her into his embrace, pressing a kiss to her forehead, _“Perhaps a month. I cannot say for sure. I have only the sense that it would not be a year to year balance.”_

“Two months is still a long time,” Sarai says. “Gods, Amaya must be so worried.”

“ _Do you want me to scry for her?”_ Aaravos asks. _“I wish to ease your mind, zahrati.”_

“Could you?” Sarai asks.

Aaravos kisses her again. _“If that is what you wish.”_


	3. Chapter 3

“ _The gift of scrying was given to us by the stars,”_ Aaravos says, _“And it is under those stars that such magic must be cast. In daylight, the attempt would only give us blurred images, ill-defined portents.”_

Sarai pulls Aaravos’s cloak about her shoulders; it is a little cold at night on the balcony.

Aaravos himself is bare-chested, starlit skin glittering like the night sky above them. He isn’t affected by the cold, something Sarai envies.

He touches the smooth onyx bowl that has been filled with clear water and which reflects the full moon above them.

His eyes go a blinding white as he begins to sing, in a high clear language that Sarai can barely comprehend, though she knows what the words mean.

“ _I sing to the stars who have made me, I sing to the sky who bore me, I sing to the moon who has blessed me. Grant me sight beyond sight,_ _across this dark expanse, this void between the worlds,_

_Let me see the one named Amaya.”_

The water ripples, once, twice and then goes completely still, shimmering with iridescent light that clears away like fog before the rays of the sun.

Sarai leans closer, and she can see Amaya.

She has grown no older, at least not in ways that mark the body but there is worry in her eyes, and Sarai can see that Amaya holds herself taut as a bowstring.

Her dark hair is still cut short, and she is signing rapidly to another soldier, something about tunnels…

“Oh,” Sarai says, tears springing to her eyes at the sight of her little sister, “She’s still looking.”

“ _She is every bit as devoted to you as you are to her, zahrati,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“I do not think she will ever give up hope.”_

“But I can’t get _back_ ,” Sarai says, and breaks down into tears.

Aaravos sets the bowl aside, and embraces her, tucking her head under his chin, murmuring quiet words that Sarai can’t understand through her sobs.

Eventually, she falls asleep against him, exhausted by the return of grief’s bleak tide.

When she wakes, she is lying in front of the crackling hearth. Aaravos is beside her, flipping though the pages of a large tome with one hand and writing with the other.

He’s writing faster than he usually is, almost feverishly, Sarai thinks, slowly sitting up.

“ _...no, that’s not it,”_ he mutters, frowning. _“There must be **something**...” _he turns over another page, a growing scowl on his handsome face.

“Aaravos?” Sarai asks, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”

“ _I’m...trying to find a loophole,”_ he says, a frustrated sigh escaping him as he tosses the quill down, ink splattering the parchment.

“A loophole?”

“ _Not...for me,”_ he says, _“for you.”_

“You think I could escape?” Sarai asks, dumbfounded.

“ _If I can find a loophole, yes,”_ Aaravos says, then looks away. “ _But I would not be able to follow.”_

The sudden surge of hope that Sarai had felt is squashed abruptly.

“You’d be alone again,” she says, horror creeping into her voice.

“ _I have been alone before,”_ Aaravos says softly, and Sarai can see the faintest glimmer of tears on the edges of his long lashes.

“I won’t leave you alone here,” Sarai hisses. “If one way doesn’t work, we’ll find another.”

“ _Sarai...”_ Aaravos murmurs.

“I-,” Sarai begins, hesitates and continues, “I love you. I’m not leaving you here all alone again.”

“ _But your sister-”_

“Amaya would understand that I leave no one behind,” Sarai says. “And we have time to figure out a plan. You said that it’s not a year to year ratio.”

Aaravos studies her for a long moment, his gaze intent. _“You are a stubborn woman, aren’t you?”_

“Darling, I’m surprised you didn’t notice before,” Sarai says.

Aaravos smiles, but it’s a slow, tentative thing.

Sarai leans in, kisses him softly. _“’Ahabik, Aaravos,”_ she murmurs against his lips. “I will not leave you.”

He stares at her, heartbreaking relief written across his lovely face like stars across the sky.

“ _Sarai,”_ he breathes her name as if it were a prayer and kisses her again, desperate, clinging to her as if she would disappear if he let her go. _“Sarai, ‘ahabik.”_

* * *

 

Sarai looks up from one of the few books she can read within the tower, and finds Aaravos by the window, head tilted up, watching the endless void outside the tower. It’s late, and the stars have begun to glimmer in the sky beyond.

They’ve been researching ways to escape for nearly six months now and Sarai stretches, yawning. It wouldn’t hurt to take a break.

Aaravos looks beautiful, a creature of magic and starlight, within her reach but still somehow just outside it.

She stands and walks to his side, reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Where has your mind wandered, Aaravos?”

“ _Far afield, where the stars once met the horizon, zahrati,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“The past.”_

“Could you tell me about it?” Sarai asks.

“ _It is a long story, Sarai,”_ Aaravos says.

“We have plenty of time,” Sarai replies, leaning close, resting her head against his shoulder, allowing her arms to drop and curl around his waist.

Aaravos hums softly and settles his own hands at the small of Sarai’s back, a gentle pressure against her spine.

“ _Once,”_ Aaravos says, his gaze distant, _“when the world was young, and the stars still walked the earth, they would dance across the sky at night, guiding all who would wander beneath their light._

_They would cast their spells through their dances, and in this way, magic came to the world, gifted by the stars themselves._

_The elves, those touched by the purest magics of the world, those of sky, of sun, of moon, of sea, of earth and of starlight lived beside humanity in peace for a time._

_But humanity grew jealous, desiring the gifts of the star-blessed elves._

_In time, one of the starlight elves sought a pupil among the humans. The elf had realized that although the humans were not blessed as the elves were, they could still use magic as they did._

_The elf found a human girl, whose name was Elarion, whose name means bright-souled one._

_She took to magic as a bird to the wing, instinctive as though she was elf-born, though her blood was human through and through._

_But learning the Primal magics was slow, even with her innate talent, and she desired faster results._

_She discovered that in sacrificing magical creatures, she could use their essence to cast her spells._

_Thus did the dark magic come to be._

_The first person to learn of her terrible power was her teacher._

_She struck beneath the light of a full moon, and though she had loved her teacher dearly, she found now that he stood in her way._

_She wrenched from his heart a piece of starlight, learning the abilities of far-sight from it and leaving her former teacher horribly wounded and bleeding behind her,”_ Aaravos says solemnly.

“ _In time, she was stopped by a council of elves, who bound her in silver chains and cast her into the ocean, far away from the starlit skies that she had loved so dearly. Even her stolen far-sight could not save her from the darkness that embraces all at the end of their lives.”_

“What of her teacher?” Sarai asks, though she thinks she already knows how this story ends.

“ _He was cast into a prison for his crime of teaching the Primal magics to a human. The council blamed him for her discovery of dark magic. And so he was cast into a tower between the worlds, and left to rot,”_ Aaravos murmurs.

Sarai touches the dark star at his chest, which still glimmers faintly with starlight at its edges.

“He could not have known what she would become,” she says, pressing a gentle kiss to the star’s center.

“ _He knew,”_ Aaravos says softly, _“He thought she could be turned from that path. So strong was his faith in her, that he did not see her treachery until the moment she ripped out his heart.”_

“How did he live?” Sarai asks.

“ _Another elf heard his screams of agony, and was able to save his life,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“It was many moons before he was able to stand and then it was before a council that sat in judgment. What little magic he had left was deemed not a threat. Elarion had stolen the heart of his power and there was no getting it back.”_

“Aaravos,” Sarai begins to say, but he presses a finger to her lips, silencing her.

“ _It is the past, Sarai,”_ he says. _“I have made my peace with it.”_

* * *

 

“Do elves take marriage vows?” Sarai asks, staring into the crackling flames in the grate.

Night has fallen once more in the tower, and Sarai has elected to spend the night in the study, to sleep on the wide banther rug that is spread before the fireplace.

It hadn’t taken too much persuasion for Aaravos to join her.

Aaravos doesn’t answer for a long moment, slender fingers tracing words she doesn’t know across the bare expanse of her back.

“ _Of a sorts,”_ Aaravos murmurs at last, kissing her shoulder, _“We vow to cherish, to devote ourselves to the soul we have chosen. All that we have we will share, both in hardship and sorrow, delight and joy. And when the twilight of our lives should fall, we shall walk through it without fear, for we are together.”_

“Is that it?” Sarai asks.

“ _Each person to be wed takes a piece of their horn, and fashions it into a pendant, and presents it to their spouse before their vows are exchanged,”_ Aaravos says.

“Does that hurt you?” Sarai asks, rolling over to look her lover in the eye.

“ _No, our horns re-grow over time, but it is a reminder that we carry our beloved’s heart beside our own. That we are alone no longer,”_ Aaravos says, pressing his palm flat over her heart, and Sarai smiles.

“And you are alone no longer, my love,” she murmurs.

“ _No,”_ he says quietly. _“I have you.”_

“You always will,” Sarai says. “No matter the time and worlds between us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation notes:  
> zahrati - my blossom  
> 'ahabik - I love you.
> 
> I am not a native Arabic speaker, so if those are incorrect, I apologize. I would love to hear the correct words and I'll replace them asap.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might want some tissues on hand, just an fyi.

Sarai wakes one morning to a particularly dreadful nausea that has her running for a bucket and it is a pattern that continues for three days before Sarai begins suspect something more than a simple cold.

Aaravos is at her side, one hand resting at her back as she retches into the depths of a wooden bucket on the fourth morning, looking more and more worried by the day.

And Sarai has a sudden dawning realization, one that is both joy and terror entwined.

_She couldn’t be pregnant, could she?_

Aaravos hands her a flask of water as she pulls back from the bucket and Sarai gratefully washes the taste of vomit from her mouth.

“Aaravos,” she rasps, “Is there a way to...to tell if a person is with child?”

There is a sharp inhalation from her left as the warmth of Aaravos’s magic sweeps over her and as Sarai turns, Aaravos is staring, a mixture of shock and delight in his bright, alien eyes.

“ _You are,”_ he breathes, and in his right hand, nestled gently in his dark palm, a soft blue star glows.

“Oh my gods,” Sarai says.

Aaravos nods.

“How far?” Sarai asks, past the lump in her throat, the tears in her eyes blurring the vision of her husband, who looks to be crying himself as he gently rests both hands against her stomach.

“ _A few weeks,”_ he whispers. _“Not far along at all.”_

“Um...” Sarai says, “how long do elven pregnancies last?”

Aaravos gives a weak laugh, _“I don’t know.”_

“Oh shit,” Sarai says.

Aaravos nods in agreement. _“_ _There has not been a half-elf child that has walked this world before,”_ he seems to struggle for words, _“They will be something new, something bright and beautiful...”_

He looks at her, determination sharp and clear on his face, _“We will find a way out; I will not consign our child to_ _a life within_ _this tower.”_

* * *

Sarai’s stomach continues to remain flat, no visible evidence to her pregnancy, though the morning sickness and Aaravos’s spells say otherwise.

“Do you think that’s normal?” Sarai asks as the days pass by, buried in research and feverish planning.

Aaravos makes a non-committal hum.

“I’m being serious,” Sarai says.

“ _From what little I’ve found on human anatomy,”_ Aaravos says with a sigh, _“It varies from woman to woman.”_

“Less than helpful, love,” Sarai tells him.

“ _I am merely telling you what I know, Sarai,”_ Aaravos says, setting aside his book and beckoning her into his arms.

Sarai settles against his chest with a quiet huff. “I know that,” she grumbles, “it’s just...I...worry for the baby is all.”

“ _They are well,”_ Aaravos soothes, _“They grow and they are healthy._ ”

“That’s good,” Sarai says, stroking her stomach, wondering what her child will look like, if they will look more like their father or if they will look more like her.

“ _Have you thought of a name?”_ Aaravos asks softly as day begins to fade into night, the fire in the grate crackling to life with a wave of his hand, bringing with it a welcome warmth.

“Some,” Sarai says. “Ava if a girl, maybe...Callum, if a boy? What do you think?”

“ _Any name you pick will suit the child,”_ Aaravos murmurs, kissing her temple. _“My people do not name the child until a month has passed since their birth. Then we ask the stars for their guidance, and meditate on what name might suit them best.”_

“So you’ve no objections to any name I pick?” Sarai teases.

“ _None at all,”_ Aaravos says with a smile, _“As long as it’s within reason.”_

“Killjoy,” Sarai says. “You hear that, baby?” she asks her stomach, “your father is a killjoy.”

Aaravos laughs, warm and amused.

“ _Oh, **I’m** the killjoy,” _Aaravos says, and Sarai glances up in time to catch his eye-roll and she bursts into giggles.

She eventually falls asleep, and she dreams of a little boy with skin like the star-studded midnight sky, with eyes of brilliant gold. She dreams of freedom, of walking through fields of verdant green, with Amaya on one side and Aaravos on the other, their child cradled in her arms, walking free in the sunlight with no walls to cage them in, the only thing above them the beautiful boundless blue of a summer sky.

* * *

 

The breakthrough comes two weeks later, a ritual that will allow Aaravos to open a portal back. It’s risky, a gamble, but they knew that when they began this endeavor.

“ _This early in the pregnancy,”_ Aaravos says as he briskly gathers ingredients for the ritual, _“they will be safer inside your womb than outside it. It would be too risky to take a newborn through.”_

Sarai packs away her things, everything she had when she came through plus a few more items. She tucks her pendant beneath her breastplate, and helps to clear a space on the floor.

The circle of Primal symbols etched into the stones will be the opening point for the portal.

They have begun to glow with a faint pearly light beneath Aaravos’s hands as he sketches lines of power into the air above them.

Then he steps back, studying the configuration before nodding and turning to her. _“You’ll go first,”_ he says quietly. _“It’s my crossing that will be more problematic.”_

“We’ll get through this together,” Sarai says firmly.

Aaravos smiles, leaning down to kiss her. _“’Ahabik, Sarai. Always, zahrati, no matter what may happen.”_

“’ _Ahabik, Aaravos,”_ Sarai says, the words like quicksilver on her tongue, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“ _You will,”_ Aaravos promises.

The portal opens with a thunderous roar, and on the other side, Sarai can see the dim light of glow-lichen and gray stone.

Sarai looks to Aaravos, who tilts his head towards the portal, eyes soft. _“I’ll see you on the other side,”_ he murmurs, a spark of humor in his bright eyes.

Sarai laughs, kisses him again, and walks through.

The air on the other side is cool against her face, the scent of water and moss clinging to her first breath of a world outside the tower she’s spent what could be years in.

“Ready?” she calls.

Aaravos nods, already striding towards the portal.

He’s almost reached it, hands within reach, Sarai can almost pull him through, their hands are touching, when a rumble shakes the ground, the portal flickering.

Aaravos inhales sharply, looking up at something that Sarai can no longer see, eyes growing wide before an explosion knocks him back, away from the portal.

Sarai throws her hands up in an attempt to shield herself, bracing for pain, the pendant at her breast growing hot and then dulling to an icy chill.

She opens her eyes and there is a shield of starlight before her, glowing softly.

_He had protected her._

Sarai can see Aaravos, lying still, unmoving, crimson slowly spreading across the stones, and a wail of anguish erupts from her throat. She lunges, trying to go back, to help.

_She promised she wouldn’t leave him alone!_

The portal slams shut with a crack like shattering ice and Sarai’s heart breaks with it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're going to want tissues for this one folks. I'm sorry.   
> I got teary eyed writing it, just warning ya.

How long she kneels there in the dark, she doesn’t know, her heart aching in her chest, grief crushing her beneath its stone-like weight, the pendant of silver-clasped horn cold against her skin.

She is kneeling still when torchlight floods the tunnel, and the sound of iron boots thunder towards her.

Slowly, so very slowly, Sarai lifts her head.

Amaya throws her arms around her shoulders, hugging her tight.

Here is her sister, loyal and kind and Amaya will never meet Sarai’s husband, who has given his life to see her home. And Sarai bursts into fresh tears.

Her baby will never meet their father.

The agony of it leaves her speechless and numb the entire slow journey to the surface.

It’s dawn, the light creeping over the horizon to illuminate the world in its gentle glow.

It’s the first dawn she’s seen in at least three years that has not had Aaravos at her side, his voice a low murmur in her ear.

It’s the first dawn without him, without her husband who was so, _so_ brilliant, a star in living form.

She shakes with silent sobs as Amaya guides her forward, her legs trembling.

“’ _Ahabik, Sarai. Always, zahrati, no matter what may happen.”_

The words linger in her mind, sweet and warm and try as she might, she cannot stop the tears from coming, pouring out from her soul, a river of deep, heart-wrenching grief.

* * *

She is given medical leave to recover from the ordeal, and she and Amaya leave not a week after she’s returned, to the little house amidst green hills, the home where they were born and raised, far away from the war that had begun so long ago.

Amaya is with her, slender fingers speaking comfort and kindness with her blunt cheer, and it helps. But there will always be a part of her that died when her husband had, trailing into the star-studded dark after him.

“ _Where do elves go when they die?”_

“ _Back to the stars,”_ Aaravos had said as they lay on the balcony, watching the night sky. _“Each star you see in the night, is a soul, thousands and thousands of lives glittering in the dark. One day, they will return to this world, to walk their ancient home once more.”_

* * *

It’s here, in her family's ancestral home, where she begins to show, her stomach curving in unmistakable pregnancy. She is four months along if Aaravos’s reckoning had been correct.

Amaya finds out as she enters the room when Sarai is changing, pulling a long tunic over her head, leaving her nightgown on the edge of the bed, beginning her preparations for the day.

Waking in the morning alone is new to her, and she’s slowly piecing her broken heart together, shard by fractured shard.

Her sister sleeps across the room from her, unwilling to leave her alone. Sarai doesn’t mind. They’ve shared the same room for nearly twenty years anyway.

 _You are pregnant?_ Amaya asks, hands almost a blur as she speaks.

 _Yes,_ Sarai answers, and the wretched tears come again, and she sits down on the bed, Amaya sitting beside her.

Sarai leans against Amaya’s comforting shoulder, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief that her sister offers.

 _Can I ask when?_ Amaya says.

Sarai hiccups, trying to find the words to describe the when, how in the span of what was only a few months for Amaya, was years for Sarai.

 _When I went into the caves,_ she says at last, her fingers trembling as she curls them into the words she needs. _I found a mirror._

 _Okay,_ Amaya says, _how do those two things go together?_

 _I need to tell you a story, and I need you to know,_ Sarai says, _that I am not crazy. I need you to believe me._

 _You don’t seem **too** crazy to me, _Amaya says wryly.

Sarai huffs, _Amaya, please!_

Amaya studies her. _I believe you, Sarai._

Her words are firm, solid movements, sincerity in every twist of her fingers.

Sarai continues, praying that her sister will understand, that she will not think less of her.

 _I got lost in the caves, I was wandering around in the dark, and I thought I had found a way out but it was a dead end. And in that dead end was a mirror. It was a magic mirror, a relic of the elves,_ she says, and watches with a sinking heart as Amaya frowns.

 _Please believe me,_ Sarai begs. _Please._

Amaya nods. _A magic mirror, okay. Like from a storybook? Like the ones Mama used to read to us?_

 _Yes,_ Sarai says. _All stories must come from somewhere. Why not from reality?_

_Okay. You found a mirror?_

_Yes._ Sarai says.

 _And, it...took you somewhere?_ Amaya asks.

 _Yes. It trapped me._ Sarai says. _And I wasn’t the only one trapped there._

Amaya settles a hand on Sarai’s knee as if to reassure herself that Sarai is here.

 _He was...beautiful, unlike any elf or being I have ever seen,_ Sarai says, and she remembers with crystalline clarity how Aaravos had looked as he had lifted her to her feet, staring down at her, radiant and lovely. _And kind, and I loved him._

She pauses, fighting the desire to curl into a ball and wail her grief into her pillow.

 _Time was strange there,_ Sarai says. _As if slowed...he said that he figured that the difference was not quite year to year. It was months for you, but...years for me._

 _How long?_ Amaya asks and there is a grief in her eyes, still present despite Sarai’s return.

 _At least three, I think,_ Sarai tells her, _I wanted to come back so badly, Amaya. The...tower was built to be inescapable._

 _But you got back?_ Amaya says, confused.

 _My husband is-was a genius,_ Sarai says shakily, and again she sees him fall, pale hair darkening with his own blood as he lay dying.

_Husband?_

_Yes,_ Sarai says, sniffling. _Only a year before we found a way to possibly get back. We knew the risks and he said that he would not have our child be raised in a tower, unable to escape._

_We found a spell and he could cast it. It was our only option, because I couldn’t cast magic to save my life._

And gods above, she remembers how Aaravos looked when he spell-cast, glowing with the very light of the stars themselves, alien and magnificent.

_He was a dark mage?_

_No,_ Sarai says, and her fingers snap the word but tremble as she continues, for she knows well Amaya’s dislike of elves. _He was an elf._

Amaya’s gaze darkens and her mouth twists in a frown. _He did not hurt you in any way? No coercion? No tricks?_

 _No,_ Sarai says, and gods, her hands are shaking so badly, she can hardly shape the words. _He loved me, and I loved him._ She swallows hard, _I still do._

Something in Amaya’s gaze softens as she sees Sarai’s words.

 _I have little love for elves, it is true,_ Amaya says slowly, _but I am not blind to your heart, Sarai. I...can see the love that you carry in your heart, how much it hurts you to speak of...your husband. Only a real and true love would hurt you so with its loss._

Sarai closes her eyes against the tears and continues. _He cast the spell, insisting that I cross over first. I made it to the other side and...he was so close, Amaya, so close to me...I could almost touch him. And then there was an explosion._

 _He chose to shield me instead of himself,_ Sarai has to stop, seeing again that vivid image of her husband, still and unmoving. _Then the portal closed and you found me._

Amaya makes a soft hum, considering.

Sarai twists her pendant between her fingers, tracing the ridged edges of the horn, watching her sister quietly.

 _I believe you._ Amaya says after what seems to be an eternity. _I believe you._

 _Thank you,_ Sarai signs over and over _, thank you._

 _What will you do now?_ Amaya asks.

 _I cannot be a soldier, not when I will be a mother._ Sarai says. _I’ll be sending a letter of resignation to the army soon._

Amaya nods. _I will not tell a soul of what you have told me._

 _Thank you, Amaya,_ Sarai says. _If anyone asks_ _why_ _...you can tell them that I’ve decided to take time to re-evaluate my life since being stuck in the caves for so long._

 _It is a sound_ _excuse,_ Amaya says, and her next words are hesitant, _Would_ _you tell me of those years away, when you are ready?_

 _Of course,_ Sarai says, _Of course._

* * *

Sarai gives birth to a boy, who bears none of the marks of his father, save his slightly pointed ears and the diamonds beneath his eyes that had glowed so brightly upon his birth but which have since faded, vanishing like morning mist beneath the sun’s rays.

She cradles the first and only son of Archmage Aaravos, and prays that his father’s soul finds its way to a peaceful rest.

“ _Startouch elves may dream-walk if they so choose,”_ Aaravos had told her once. _“So if you may escape, but I cannot, I may still speak with you.”_

“We’ll both get out of here,” Sarai had said fiercely, stubborn as ever. And then she had failed, had watched her child’s father fall, his last act to shield her and their son from the blast.

And he had died there, locked away in a tower that no one would ever find. A bright, starlit grave for a man just as beautiful as the night sky, and unfathomable as the depths of the ocean.

Sarai weeps silently over her son, the infant fast asleep, oblivious to his mother’s grief.

She has had no dreams these past months, only empty darkness.

* * *

Callum is six when he asks Sarai about his birth father.

Sarai almost bursts into tears, remembering that last brilliant flare of starlight, that shield that had protected her and Callum from the blast. And Aaravos, lying still and unmoving, face turned as if to look at her, beautiful eyes half-closed as the last of his long life bled out, a shimmering pool of crimson staining white hair dark.

Then the portal had closed, and she’d been alone, save for the child in her womb.

“Your father,” she says, voice choked, kneeling down beside Callum, in the garden where he’s been drawing pictures in the dirt. Ever the artist, her son is.

“Your father was,” Sarai tries again, for Aaravos had been many things, _clever, cunning, powerful, dangerous, kind, gentle,_ “he was a good man. And although he never got to meet you, I _know_ he would have loved you.”

“What was his favorite color?” Callum asks.

Sarai laughs, of course Callum wanted to know the simple things. “Blue, Callum. He loved blue.”

“Did he like jelly tarts?”

“I don’t know,” Sarai admits. “We didn’t have the supplies where we were living at the time.”

“Hmmm, could he draw like I can?” Callum asks.

Sarai nods.

“He could,” she says. There is a chest in her bedroom that has her journal, which bears a few of Aaravos’s drawings, along with her marriage pendant and her bracelets.

“Would you like to see something special, my little star?” she asks.

“What is it?” Callum asks, green eyes glimmering with curiosity.

“It’s a secret,” Sarai says, “Come, let me show you.”

* * *

 

Sarai can hear Thunder behind them, feel Viren shifting nervously in the saddle behind her.

She curses her luck, the dragon King would have an easy time running them down but still she pushes her horse to gallop those few remaining feet to safety just beneath the rocks where they would be shielded from the lightening blasts.

Almost there-

The explosion hurtles her from the horse, the beast’s dreadful death scream cutting off in seconds.

Something in her chest cracks as she impacts the ground, her cry of pain lost in the blood that chokes her.

Gods, it _hurts_ and instinctively, she knows that she will not survive this.

She thinks of Callum, of Ezran, who will grow up without their mother. Her precious children.

She thinks of Harrow, her gentle King. Of Aaravos, her brilliant Star.

 _Oh my loves,_ she thinks, and breathes out, _I’ll see you on the other side._


End file.
